


lights, camera

by shatteredhourglass



Series: Winterhawk Bingo [16]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adult Men Act Like Horny Teens, Anal Sex, Avenger Bucky Barnes, Avenger Clint Barton, Camboy Bucky Barnes, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, POV Clint Barton, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-20 00:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22940260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredhourglass/pseuds/shatteredhourglass
Summary: Bucky has a fun hobby.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Winterhawk Bingo [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1443160
Comments: 34
Kudos: 232
Collections: Winterhawk Bingo





	lights, camera

“Well, we saved the day again,” Tony announces. “Do you think we should get statues erected?”

“Erected,” Clint repeats from his perch up in the rafters, and Tony snickers over Steve’s put-upon sigh and Bucky’s nearly-inaudible snort.

That last one makes Clint smile to himself, small and proud before he tucks his bow away and heads for a low-hanging beam. From there it’s easy to call his circus tricks into play, jump for a steel pipe and swing to another beam before hitting the shredded carpet in a graceful roll to his feet.

Then he takes two more steps and trips over his own legs, only catching himself because Natasha’s close enough to help.

“Classy,” Natasha says dryly, reaches up to pick at his cheek. Her fingertips are covered in green goo when she pulls back and she grimaces, wipes it back on his shirt.

“My hero,” he answers, lets a little bit of drama bleed into his voice.

She rolls her eyes at him, but there’s the barest hint of a smile on her lips when she turns around to join the others. Clint trails after her a second later, glancing around to make sure everyone’s accounted for.

Tony’s standing on top of one of the monsters they just killed - he’s not wearing the Iron Man armour apart from a gauntlet on his right hand, which makes Clint think that he’s probably trying to appear taller. He’s not short, not _really_ , but considering that there’s three of them over six foot without counting the Hulk, it’s understandable.

The press will probably be here soon, along with the emergency services. People are a lot more inclined to get in the ambulances now that Tony’s promised to pay for any Avengers-related medical bills. Steve and Bucky are standing next to each other, although Bucky’s shifting on his feet like he’s getting antsy.

“Alright, we’ve just got cleanup duty and then we can kick back and take a break,” Tony announces. “Make yourselves useful, yeah?”

Clint spots a very naked Bruce hiding behind some rubble and nudges Natasha with his elbow. “Did we bring any spare clothes?”

Natasha sighs. “No.”

They should probably start doing that. Emergency clothes would be a good idea for all of them, really. Poor Bruce is going to end up with his dick on national television if they’re not careful. Clint’s pretty sure Bruce would either die or remain Hulked out for the remainder of eternity if that happened. Guess it’s on him to help out, then.

Clint unclips his quiver and extra baggage before he grabs the collar of his shirt and yanks it over his head. It’s a little sweaty and dusty from where he’s been rolling around in the ruins of the building, but Bruce is small enough that it’ll cover anything important. It’ll do while they get him to a place that has proper pants. Clint hands his shirt to Natasha and she takes it with a slight grimace, heads for Bruce.

Clint clips his quiver and bow to his belt loop instead. It’s hot enough that the lack of shirt isn’t really bothering him anyway, and he scratches at his bare hip absently before he feels the weight of someone’s gaze on him.

It’s probably just one of the emergency service people being curious about his tramp stamp, so he doesn’t worry about it. If the press cared about the delicate spider inked into the small of his back - put there on a drunken dare, although he’s quite fond of it now - something would’ve been said already. His relative anonymity is a blessing sometimes.

“Barton,” Tony calls. “Come help me with this.”

Clint obediently lifts the monster’s jaw with a grunt, holds it there as Tony pokes at a wickedly curved fang. “You know there’s people here with super strength, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s depressing to watch centenarians be in better shape than I am,” Tony replies, tucking something into his pocket and backing up. “Okay, you can drop it. Nice abs, by the way.”

“Grew ‘em myself,” Clint says, feels his face heat up a little.

He doesn’t let himself blush. That is, he doesn’t let himself blush until he turns and catches Bucky’s eyes on him. It looks like he's been watching for a while, with the way he's leaning up against a pillar. Bucky's gaze is aimed somewhere south of Clint's face, and he only gets a split-second of startlingly intense eye contact before Bucky looks away with his arms folded, walks over to Steve.

“Thanks for this, Clint,” Bruce says from behind him.

“No prob, buddy,” Clint answers automatically, twisting around. He’d been right - the shirt covers just enough that Bruce remains modest. “Think you can handle being my number one fan until we get you some pants?”

“I think I can put up with it,” Bruce replies with the slightest edge of a smile, and Clint cheerfully claps a hand to his shoulder in acknowledgement. “Natasha’s asking around for some pants.”

“Can’t give you mine,” Clint agrees, glances back at the others. He _could_. He's not sure it'd win him any brownie points, though. It could be worth it if Bucky keeps looking at him like that, but Natasha would be likely to cut off some very sensitive parts if he exposes himself near her (again.) 

His eyes end up inevitably straying to where Bucky is. He's mumbling something to Steve - holding his Scorpion _very_ casually in front of his crotch - and then he turns to leave. Steve just nods and then continues with ordering the few EMTs that have already shown up. There’s a few people who were caught by the rubble but it’s all minor injuries, luckily, and none of the Avengers are hurt either, spare for Clint’s wrist.

That’s been playing up every winter though, and he’s starting to think it might just be old age catching up with him. Tony doesn't seem to feel bad about putting him to work removing bits of rock either way. Clint puts up with it and bides his time. 

His patience is not long.

Bucky’s been gone for a good ten minutes. Clint takes stock of where they are in the city and figures it’s within walking distance of his apartment in Bed-Stuy. If everyone’s still here, then…

“I gotta go,” he blurts out.

Bruce frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint says hurriedly. “Just- I’m gonna go get a shirt, y’know? It’s cold.”

It’s not cold at all. It's the middle of July. Bruce’s frown gets deeper and Clint decides that trying to explain any more would just hurt his chances of getting away with this even more. Instead he offers a half-hearted wave and slips out the shattered remains of the building’s front door when he’s sure that Steve and Tony aren’t looking.

No one really notices him walking back to his place and Clint’s relieved. He can’t possibly explain _why,_ after all, so he just scrambles up the fire escape and breaks the lock on his window for the third time this week. (He’s getting tired of fixing the lock, but not tired enough to stop breaking it.)

He dumps his gear on the floor with his boots after giving Lucky a mandatory five minutes of petting, smooching and declaring his undying love, and then he - reluctantly - sends him to bed. From there it’s a rush to grab his dented-looking laptop off the table and head up to his bed.

Oh, glorious bed. Clint wishes he had time for a nap.

Maybe later.

Instead he types in his password quickly and clicks around until he’s opened an incognito tab on his browser. He’s pretty sure that his secret agent computer won’t give his data to anyone regardless, but Clint’s not taking chances with this.

When he logs onto the cam site it notifies him that one of his favourited models ( _white.wolf_ ) is online.

Clint bites his lip as the screen loads. His internet has been playing up lately - Ivan and his goons have been fucking with everything they can get their greasy fingers on - so it’s taking a while. The problem with being left alone with his thoughts is that Clint starts _thinking_ about things instead of distracting himself with the goings-on of the camsite and one model in particular.

He’s not sure that this is… _ethical_ , exactly. He’s still going ahead with it like an idiot because he _is_ an idiot, and one with no sense of self-preservation, but he’s going to feel cripplingly guilty about it at the same time.

The screen finally loads up to a crisp white room and a window leading out to the skyscrapers of Manhattan, the grey skies beyond that. Clint holds his breath for a second and then the camera shifts to rumpled sheets, bare muscled thighs and calloused fingers loosely wrapped around a thick cock.

There’s no face visible, but the hand pumps once, twice, slow and teasing.

Clint finds it’s a lot easier to hold his breath when he can’t breathe.

It had been an accident the first time.

Clint’s given up on casual sex since he developed his very inconvenient crush on Bucky Barnes - which was about five minutes after meeting the guy. Not that he could really be bothered with casual sex to begin with. Either way he’d clicked onto a camsite with no serious intentions of getting off to it, because it was better than just outright jerking off without fantasizing about metal fingers digging into his hip and Bucky’s little sideways smirk.

No one could’ve predicted that the Winter Soldier also moonlights as a cam boy.

Bucky Barnes, who’s about a hundred and ten - who didn’t even know how to use a StarkTech laptop before Tony sat down and taught him every function. He doesn’t even like speaking to people outside of brief sarcastic comments and the occasional shooting competition. The only person Clint would’ve pegged as less of an exhibitionist would’ve been Bruce, and Clint’s pretty sure Hulk hates clothes so even _that_ is dubious.

So yeah, Clint watched his teammate get off in glorious high-definition the first time and then he swore not to do it ever again, and now here he is.

The other regulars are already starting up a steady stream of dirty comments in the chat as Bucky lifts his other hand to tease at a nipple. The camera’s angled so there’s only a hint of the scars webbing his left shoulder, but it doesn’t change the fact that the metal arm’s in full view when it’s pinching at his chest.

Bucky makes a soft noise and Clint- his fingers have slipped under his waistband without him consciously meaning to, curling his fingers against his half-hard dick without actually doing anything.

 _Wow, that’s a really good Winter Soldier cosplay,_ an anonymous user types.

_sexy as hell tho xxx_

_No, seriously - where did he get it? I want one._

Clint makes a choked noise that could arguably be a laugh in a different situation. For some reason the users are completely convinced it’s a very high-class costume - makes more sense than the _actual_ Bucky Barnes jerking off for their pleasure, he supposes.

Even Clint had thought _maybe_ at first, but he sees Bucky every day. He hasn’t seen the man naked in person, sure, but he’d recognize his voice anywhere and if Clint’s completely honest with himself, he spends too much time staring at Bucky to mistake someone else for him anyway.

A groan slips through the speakers of his laptop and _fuck_ if Bucky doesn't sound nice. He’s good at this, too, arching up into his hand and tilting his hips to the sunlight catches the ridges of his abs and the generous line of his dick. It's not fair. They didn't have camboys during the war and yet here he is, like some kind of metal-armed honeypot.

_Looking good, wolf!_

_:)))))_

_does he take tips?_

_Wish he’d take mine!_

Clint catches his lower lip in his teeth, bites down hard enough to sting. It doesn’t stop him from wanting. It also doesn’t stop him from pulling his own dick out, stroking it properly as he tastes copper and his own desire thick in the back of his throat.

Bucky’s getting close, he can tell. That’s probably a sign he’s been watching too much, something else to feel guilty about when his eyes aren’t clinging to the sweat pooling in the dip of Bucky’s collarbone. He wants to lick it, graze his teeth across skin hard enough for one of those bitten-off gasps that Bucky makes, barely inaudible on the speakers.

He wants to be in the Tower watching this for real.

 _got a little green goop on your elbow,_ Clint types absently with one hand.

It’s nothing like what the other viewers are saying. It’s _stupid_ , compared to what everyone else is typing. Clint can see it, though, the alien slime flecked along the line of a scar. It’s an odd imperfection sitting in the middle of a perfect scene.

He catches the second Bucky reads his message because he moves and Clint sees the edge of his smirk, bright and amused. There’s nothing else on there that would’ve gotten that reaction. Clint wants to taste his smile.

Clint can’t do any of the things he _wants_ to do in this moment but the feelings in his chest are so thick and overwhelming that he can’t do _nothing_.

 _you’re gorgeous,_ he types out before he’s thought too hard about it.

Bucky arches up into his hand a few seconds later and then he’s coming in wet stripes across his heaving chest, sweat and cum and so unbearably, mind-blowingly _hot_ that Clint’s orgasm hits him like a punch to the face.

When he comes back to himself he can hear Bucky’s ragged breathing, the dings of other messages. He manages to open his eyes after a while, catches Bucky wiping the green slime off of his elbow without worrying about the other mess he’s made.

“Thanks,” Bucky says with the slightest hint of a smile, and Clint’s pretty sure that one’s just for him.

 _i think i’m in love with you,_ he writes, stares at the words on the screen for a few long minutes.

He doesn’t press send on that one.

It doesn’t matter.

Steve would kill him if he actually made a move on his best friend. Natasha definitely wouldn’t approve, Tony would never stop making fun of him. Bruce wouldn’t care and Hulk _definitely_ wouldn’t care, but the first three would make Clint regret it. It’d be a disaster. It wouldn’t be worth it. And it’s not like Bucky would even be interested, so there’s no reason for Bucky to make a move.

Clint’s just… got an unfortunate habit of getting the hots for the wrong people. It doesn’t have to mean anything. He doesn’t need to _do_ anything about it. He even deletes the website from his laptop a few days later just to prove that he can.

He doesn’t have to do anything about it.

Scratch that: he _won’t_ do anything about it, because he’s not a terrible dumpster of a human being.

He’s got self-control.

Except that he doesn’t.

“Do you think anyone saw us?”

“I mean,” Clint says breathlessly, a little distracted by getting his hands up Bucky’s shirt to feel every inch of hot skin and hard muscle. He's finding it hard to remember words when he's got Bucky sitting on the bed underneath him and he's in Bucky's lap. Shit, that’s nice. “What was I saying? Oh. Yeah, no, there was a guy who walked past in the hallway, but he was looking at his phone.”

The metal hand - currently curved around Clint’s ass - squeezes him for a brief second, hard enough that Clint thinks that Bucky might’ve _wanted_ to get caught.

“Clint,” Bucky says. “I need to talk to you about- before we do this I gotta be h-”

“It’s fine,” Clint answers hurriedly, clasping his face in both hands briefly. Bucky looks like he’s about to start a long serious discussion and that’s going to directly oppose the things _Clint’s_ interested in - he’s terrible at feelings, but he’s pretty good at sex and he doesn’t want Bucky to give up on him already - so Clint presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth and gets up on shaky legs, locates Bucky’s laptop. He picks it up and carries it over to the dresser, clicks it open and starts typing.

“How did you- hang on, did you just fuckin’ _hack_ my computer?”

“It’s not hacking if your password is literally _password_ ,” Clint replies.

Bucky’s already got the camsite logged in - incognito tag - so all Clint has to do is turn it on and then glance back at Bucky questioningly. The flush is creeping up Bucky’s cheeks underneath his stubble and Clint leaves the laptop to climb back in his lap, can’t quite help grinding down on the bulge in his jeans. The hot pulse of pleasure is enough to distract Bucky but Clint’s reminded that he was trying to be reassuring.

“It’s fine,” he says, the words getting a little muddled because his mouth’s drifted to Bucky’s throat. “Whatever makes you happy is fine. You’re gorgeous.”

Bucky must make the connection then because he rolls them over, presses Clint down into the mattress and stares at him with blown pupils and bitten-red lips. Fuck, he’s hot. “ _You?_ ”

“It was an accident,” Clint says, bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to hurt. “The first time,” he adds unnecessarily.

Bucky just stares at him for moment longer and the expression on his face is _complicated_ , to say the least. The intensity of his stare is ruined by the press of his erection up against Clint’s thigh. He’s tense all the way from head to toe but it doesn’t feel like the bad kind, especially not when Bucky starts kissing him again.

“Clothes off,” Clint orders.

Bucky makes an affirmative noise and then goes back to kissing him, which makes it a little harder to focus on all the unbuttoning and unzipping. He still manages it with a fair amount of success and then Bucky’s hot and hard and naked against him and Clint nearly loses his mind. He’s still got his bracer and glove on but he doesn’t care.

Bucky’s mouth sucks a bruise into his throat, grazes teeth against the sensitive spot and drags a moan out of him. There’s no indication that he has any issues with Clint watching him get off before now - in fact, considering the way he’s grinding them together suggests he might like it and that’s really _something_.

“How d’you wanna do this?” Bucky’s voice is rough enough that Clint shivers.

“Honestly? I’d take whatever you wanted to give me,” and it must come out too raw, too honest, because Bucky’s face goes all soft and he strokes a hand down Clint’s side before he kisses him again.

“I want to give you everything,” Bucky says against his mouth, and that’s too much for the first time. Does it count as a first time if you’ve seen them get off more times than you can count? The worst part is that Clint _wants_ the everything.

An image drops into his head, a barely-coherent fantasy he’d had one night while watching. 

Clint tries to focus enough to think. “You got lube?”

“You’re sure about this?”

“Mmhm,” Clint says agreeably, adjusts the laptop so his face isn’t visible on the screen.

He ends up with the screen displaying him from shoulders and bare chest to where his legs are spread over Bucky’s lap, knees digging into the mattress on either side. His back’s pressed up against Bucky’s chest comfortably and the StarkTech webcam is picking up the precome beading on his dick - it’s quite nice, actually, this much skin contact.

Even _nicer_ is the brush of Bucky’s dick against his ass, close to where Bucky’s fingering him with solid metal fingers. It’s just this side of rough, just enough that Clint’s breath catches with every thrust. He might be dying from how turned on he is right now. He accidentally bumps the laptop from how he’s braced and he gets a glimpse of his own expression, the overwhelmed heat in his face. _Fuck_.

Clint readjusts the laptop and then sits back, bites back a moan when Bucky’s fingers hit him just right. “You’re way too good at this,” he says breathlessly.

“Had a lot of practice,” Bucky murmurs. “Thought about you when I was doin’ it. Why are you always _naked?"_

“Shit happens,” Clint breathes. “Mostly to me. Always to me.”

“Kinda like it,” comes the reply. Clearly Bucky’s trying to kill him, but it’s sparking pleasure all over his body and his brain’s going a little hazy with it. He rises up on his knees more so he can see Bucky’s dick in the camera feed, groans at the sight of it.

“Ready to go live?”

“Fuck, Barton,” Bucky says. “You’re a fuckin’ dream come true, huh? Whole package.”

He’s not, not really. Clint’s the furthest thing from the perfect lover and yet he’s pretty sure Bucky is perfect, and he’d be more perfect if he’d stop teasing and actually _fuck_ him all for _white.wolf_ ’s audience to watch. Still, Clint’s going to do his best to live up to the idea that he’s a dream come true, because the thought makes his chest ache in a strangely nice way.

“Alright,” Clint says, clicks the button to start broadcasting. The nerves bubble up inside of him and he pushes them away, focuses on the brush of Bucky’s cock. “Get your dick in me, we’re supposed to be putting on a show.”

_Captain America?_

_Nah, look at the gloves, that’s not Cap’s outfit_

_is this meant to be hawkeye & winter soldier?_

_Wouldn’t have thought of it myself, but it’s hot. Very nice partner you’ve got there._

_right??? he’s pretty :))_

_and look how well he takes it, too_

Clint can’t quite stop himself from grinding down harder on the unrelenting pressure of Bucky’s dick. He manages to look away from the scrolling wall of text, though, tips his head back onto the cold metal of Bucky’s shoulder and rolls his hips hard enough for the computer to beep at them excitedly.

His skin feels like it’s on fire as he pants up at the ceiling, struggles for enough oxygen to think about what’s going on here.

He needs to think about it because this was supposed to be for _Bucky_. This is Bucky’s thing, not his. Clint’s just along for the ride, he’s never done anything like this before. He’s never even _thought_ about doing this with an audience, even with the amount of times he’s lost his pants in public.

It doesn’t change the fact that he’s _extremely_ turned on by all of this. Even without looking at the chat he’s thinking about people watching him ride Bucky’s cock, thinking he’s _pretty_ , _enjoying_ the sight of his sweat-damp chest and the way Bucky’s fingers are digging into his hips.

“Fuck,” he says breathlessly, and Bucky grunts in agreement. “Shit. _Bucky_.”

He glances back at the laptop because he thinks he’s fucked up but apparently he’s just very good at staying ‘in-character’ as Hawkeye being fucked by the Winter Soldier. There’s another stream of digital praise that blurs in front of his eyes as Bucky lets go of one hip to wrap around his aching dick.

“Think they like me,” Clint mutters against Bucky’s cheek, his voice catching as Bucky’s thumb rubs against him.

“Can you blame ‘em?” Bucky’s voice is strained.

He _could_ , if he’s honest with himself and Bucky, but it feels a little rude to get into his self-esteem problems in the middle of sex, especially because they have an audience. Instead Clint rolls his hips a little faster, hard enough that Bucky makes a noise like he’s dying. Clint feels the same way, as the screen fills up with words that are - mostly dirty, but there’s a few things like _beautiful_ and _pretty_ and _good_ , and he drinks it up.

“You’re gorgeous,” Bucky murmurs to him, and it’s probably meant as payback but coming from him it’s _everything_ and Clint’s knees lock up as he starts coming, clenching hard enough that he feels Bucky orgasm too.

Half-aware, Clint twists around to try and kiss him and nearly slips off the bed in the process, loose-limbed and so sensitive he hisses when Bucky’s dick slips out of him. He hears a faint thunk but doesn’t worry about it. Truth be told, he’s more interested in getting his mouth back on Bucky’s.

“Is this a-?” He starts the sentence, but he doesn’t know how to finish it. “You’ve got a little something on you,” he finishes instead, dragging his finger through a mix of lube and come.

Bucky snorts at him and Clint thinks maybe he picked up on the half-asked question anyway.

Then he pauses. “Clint.”

“Mm?”

Bucky’s eyes flick to something past him and then back to his face. He looks slightly alarmed, like he’s too relaxed to panic but he’d be doing it if he could. Clint decides to take the bait, holds onto Bucky’s shoulder to keep himself steady as he glances back to where Bucky’s looking. He gets an eyeful of his own face. “Aw, fuck.”

He slams the laptop closed as quickly as he can, nearly overbalances and falls off the bed again. Before it shuts he catches a comment that’s just _if he was the real hawkeye, he wouldn’t have that dumb tattoo_.

“Well,” Clint offers as he turns back to Bucky. “I now understand why baseball caps and sunglasses always work on civilians.”

Bucky’s lips lift up into a smile and he strokes a hand up Clint’s side, round to where he can trace the edges of the tattoo. “Doesn’t bother you?”

“Nah,” Clint says, settles himself back in Bucky’s lap. “Hey, how d’you feel about dinner? In public, how you like it.”

“I could go for that,” Bucky answers with a glimmer of a smirk.

Clint’s chest feels a little lighter, so he adds on, “I lied.”

“What?”

“That guy was totally watching you grope me in the gym earlier.”

As it turns out, Bucky Barnes can absolutely make an exhibitionist out of him, and he’s okay with that as long as he gets this as well, Bucky’s laugh filling the air around him and making Clint grin back with satisfaction.

**Author's Note:**

> Winterhawk Bingo Square: Public Groping


End file.
